


A Dream of Dragons

by Skyberrie (LyaStark)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Dragon Riders, F/M, Internalized Misogyny, Misogyny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 16:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18703114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyaStark/pseuds/Skyberrie
Summary: Game of Thrones AU. Queen Padme of House Naberrie is facing war on multiple fronts with enemies intent on casting her down or putting her in her "proper" place. When word comes from across the sea of dragon riders called Sky Walkers, she seeks out their aid.





	A Dream of Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an alternate universe that blends Star Wars into the series A Song of Ice and Fire. I used characters from each franchise. Where I could, I translated SW characters into the ASOIAF universe. In a few cases, most notably Missandei, I pulled an ASOIAF character and shifted them to fit in the altered universe. With Anakin's character, his upbringing is very different from the Star Wars films, so his characterization is a bit different as well. I mostly tried to take the version of him from The Phantom Menace and tried to imagine what an older version not warped by Palpatine and the Jedi would have been.
> 
> Artwork by Beth at niibeth.tumblr.com/post/184661210183/and-thats-another-story-another-illustration and niibeth.tumblr.com/post/184683320593/happy-end

_A long, long time ago, on a planet far, far away…_

_With a woman on the Iron Throne of Westeros, unrest has grown into all out war. Queen Padmé of House Naberrie faces multiple battlefronts as the traitors demand that she be replaced with one of her distant kin or be forced to wed a man of the traitors’ choosing who can rule in her stead until a son of her body is born and reaches the age of majority. Half the realm remains loyal to her, but that means blood is spilled in every region._

_Meanwhile, across the Narrow Sea, three dragon riders have emerged to rid Essos of slavery starting at the source: Slaver’s Bay. Having captured the great slave cities and put a stop to their practices, Anakin, Missandei, and Kitster are coming to realize that proclaiming freedom for all is far easier than making that statement a reality. With slavery such a core element of the economy of Essos, enemies are gathering on each side to cast down the dragon riders and restore Slaver’s Bay._

_Though separated by an ocean, the two conflicts are set to collide…_

* * *

_Dragons,_ Queen Padmé Naberrie thought wistfully as the tradesman from the Summer Isles gave the report of what he had seen in Slaver’s Bay. _Were I a true queen of Westeros, I would have dragons and we would have peace._

Instead, reports claimed that dragons hatched in the east and were ridden not by the blood of old Valyria, but by a trio of former slaves. Sky Walkers, they were called.

“I have heard tales of these three for years,” the trader, Xandho Qho, continued. “But I didn’t believe it. Even children know the last dragons belonged to House Targaryen and they died two hundred years ago. Even the Targaryens themselves are gone.”

Padmé stiffened, but it was Sio Bibble, Hand of the Queen, who spoke up.

“Not quite, my friend.” He smiled to soften his words. “Our queen is a Targaryen descended from the female line.”

The trader looked skeptically at Padmé. With her brown eyes and brown curls, no hint of the famed Targaryen silver tresses and lilac eyes showed through. No one would suspect that Princess Rhaelle Targaryen had been her grandmother.

“Could you tell us more about these Sky Walkers?” Padmé asked.

According to Xandho, the rider of the black dragon was called Anakin. He was tall with sandy hair and tan skin. Missandei, who was petite with golden brown skin and black curls, rode the pink and cream dragon. The last Sky Walker, with bronze skin and straight black hair, was named Kitster. He rode a dragon with green and silver scales. They had taken on the titles of kings and queen of Slaver’s Bay.

“Together, they are magnificent to look upon,” Xandho said. “They announced that there would be no more slavery in Essos. But when we stopped in Volantis we heard the news that other cities were banding together against them and hiring sellswords. There will be war in Essos.”

War in Essos meant financial repercussions in Westeros, Padmé knew. While the Seven Kingdoms did not allow slavery, the abrupt halt to the trade was already harming the economies of the rest of Essos and would, in turn, harm Westeros.

“These Sky Walkers are savages,” Sio Bibble insisted once the tradesman was dismissed with a reward for his information. “If we were not in the midst of our own war, I would advise we join the Free Cities against them to restore peace and trade.”

“The royal coffers are struggling to fund our own war,” Lady Arihnda Pryce said. “Sending troops and resources to Essos would complete our financial ruin and our queen will lose her head.”

“I said if we were not in a war of our own,” Bibble responded tightly.

Padmé couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Enough!” she cried. “How can you even consider supporting these slavers? Or reducing the decision to coinage?”

The Small Council chamber was silent. Bibble looked at her with sympathy that bordered on pity. Pryce only had contempt in her blue eyes. Padmé fought the urge to look behind, to see Sabé and Dormé’s reactions to all this. While the handmaidens couldn’t sit in her council, they were among those whose opinions she had always trusted most, so they were always present at these meetings, standing still as stone against the wall at her back.

“Your Grace,” Lord Bible began in an indulgent, patronizing tone that reminded Padmé far too much of Palpatine during his time as her Hand.

Padmé cut him off before he could catapult into a lecture.

“Westeros does _not_ support slavery,” she announced. “If we were not in our current conflict, we would be discussing sending these Sky Walkers aid.”

Pryce let out a scoff.

Padmé knew she would regret asking, but… “Does my Master of Coin have something to add?”

Lady Pryce’s mouth twisted as though restraining words that threatened to burst forth. Finally, she said, “Forgive me, Your Grace, but sending resources to outsiders helped birth this war to begin with. Mayhaps that is a course of action we should avoid in future.”

“Northmen are not outsiders,” Marlon Manderly thundered.

Pryce graced him with an incredulous look before turning her gaze away.

Padmé wished to loathe this woman, but she knew many in Westeros shared her views. Both the North and Dorne were considered by many as not being part of Westeros due to their strikingly different customs and religion. During the last winter, which had come upon them suddenly without much of an autumn at all, Padmé had commanded that a portion of the stores from the more bountiful regions be sent to the North. Winter always hit them hardest and the lack of warning meant they had less time to prepare for the two years of winter that overtook them. Many in the “true” Westeros had never forgiven her. The resentment reached the point of possibly helping to birth this war they were fighting.

But it was far from the only catalyst.

Padmé knew that Lord Dooku Lannister blamed her for the death of his firstborn son and heir, Ser Jason, just as Lord Tully held her responsible for his son, Edwin. Each had died on the other’s sword while they dueled over her hand. It didn’t matter that Padmé had made it clear she wouldn’t marry either of them, regardless of the outcome.  

Then there were the Velaryons and Celtigars who each believed they had a better claim to the throne of Westeros than her. When Padmé didn’t accept the proposals of sons from either House, they were all too eager to join with her detractors.

Other than that, there were all too many who hated the idea of a woman sitting the Iron Throne, particularly one who ruled in her own right without a husband to govern in her name.

Somewhere in all of it, Lord Sheev Palpatine was involved as well. Though his influence seemed merely in tying them all together.

“Your Grace is right,” Princess Jamillia Martell said. “We should look to ally with these Sky Walkers and their dragons.”

The room went silent again, only this time all incredulous glares were aimed toward the Dornish Master of Laws.

“We cannot call a wild mob of unwashed, uneducated slaves our allies,” Sio Bibble cried.

“Former slaves,” Padmé murmured, considering the prospect. “They freed themselves and many others. They have dragons…”

“We ought to hire them as sellswords,” Lady Pryce said.

“I thought we were lacking in coin,” Manderly pointed out

“We have enough for quality sellswords who will win us this war,” she shot back.

“And when the war is done, you think we can simply dismiss them?”

As her council argued on, Padmé turned the idea over and over in her mind. Dragons. Not just giant bones she and her cousins once played in down in the dungeons. Living, fire-breathing dragons. And their riders were magnificent to look upon, if the tradesmen told it true. If they had dragons on their side, the war would end. But what about after? What promises would she need to make in helping them hold Slaver’s Bay? Would the peace that followed last? So many in the Riverlands, the Reach, and the Westerlands were dead already.

Abruptly, Padmé rose from her seat. All discussion ceased as her council followed suit.

“I will give this more thought,” the queen said. She turned to Lord Draven, the Master of Whispers, who had kept silent throughout the entire debate, as he often did. “Have your spies listen for more information about these dragon riders. When we convene again, we can decide whether or not to send an ambassador to meet them.”

The choice seemed to be wrested from their hands the very next day as word reached Draven from his spied in Dorne that Lord Wilhuff Tarkin’s ships had been spotted rounding the coast of Dorne.

The mere mention of Tarkin sent a rush of rage through the queen. She drew in a breath and forced all thoughts of Varykino Hall from her mind. Her mother and their common folk were safe in the Vale. When the war was done, they would rebuild. For now, she was relieved that that monster had been pulled from the field.

“He could be going anywhere in Essos,” Draven said. “But the traitors wouldn’t send away their most seasoned general just to recruit another sellsword company.”

Padmé agreed. “We will send our own envoys to the Sky Walkers and pray we aren’t too late.”

Dragons. They could bring dragons back to Westeros.

Debate erupted around the table over who to send and what offers to make. With traitors sending their own ambassador, there seemed to be no question that they must do the same. In the end, they agreed to send Lord Manderly, Princess Jamillia, and Lord Commander Panaka to treat with them.

“I would also send a few of my ladies to keep Jamillia company,” Padmé added and glanced behind. “Dormé, Sabé, would you be willing to make the journey?”

“We are brave, Your Grace,” Dormé said.

Not all of the council members knew what this meant, but Draven, Panaka, and Jamillia did. While the princess gave a surprised smile, the men tried to dissuade the queen.

“Your Grace, it would be impossible to guarantee their safety,” Panaka insisted.

“I have complete trust in you, ser,” Padmé said. “You have never failed me.”

“If something were to happen,” Draven said carefully, “they can’t be replaced easily.”

“The importance of this mission is worth the risk,” she persisted. “Whether they are to be our enemies or our allies, we need to know their full measure. I trust Sabé and Dormé to bring back such detailed accounts that it would be like seeing and hearing it all with my own ears.”

* * *

Anakin didn’t like war. Yet somehow, he took to it more easily than these attempts at peace. Climbing upon Ebrion’s back and raining fire down upon slavers was far simpler than plotting and negotiating, making deals that the other side could simply go back on.

This negotiation with the Westerosi was meant to be different though. Missandei insisted that they must want them as allies.

“Westeros has never had slavery,” she said. “The gods of the Andals do not hold to it any more than the First Men or the Rhoynar.”

“The Targaryens are Valyrian, aren’t they?” Anakin asked. “Valyrians were slavers before the Doom. Their queen is a Targaryen.”

But Missandei shook her head. “The Targaryens took on the gods of Westeros when they became kings. They are Westerosi. What I have read of Westerosi says that they favor marriage alliances. Every marriage is political if you have wealth and power. They may wish to marry one of us now that we have power and wealth.”

Anakin crossed his arms over his chest. “You think they want Kitster and me to marry their queen?”

“Not likely,” Kitster said. “Word from a couple traders I talked to is that Westeros is at war with itself. These ones are fighting their queen.”

“Like we fought the slavers,” Anakin mused. He couldn’t forget that this Targaryen queen was of Valyrian blood. Essos was ripe with slavery because of them and their freehold cities. “If a marriage alliance is their reason for coming all this way, how do we know it will be any different than the other offers we had?”

“The difference is, the Westerosi were never slavers,” Missandei said. “They won’t be trying to trick us out of our cities. We are a valuable ally.” Then a mischievous look stole across her face. “Mayhaps this is how you will find the pale girl with the brown eyes.”

Even as a flush crept up Anakin’s face, Kitster laughed.

“Don’t tell Ani that the girl from his dreams waits for him in Westeros,” he warned. “He will trade away everything we built in exchange for a kiss.”

“You shouldn’t laugh at my dreams,” Anakin retorted hotly, “If it weren’t for my dreams, we couldn’t have built anything at all.”

They had always known Anakin’s dreams were different. His dreams came true. Not all of them, of course. But the ones that overtook him with a force more visceral than life, those ones always held pieces of truth. As a child, they led him to the dead man who expired of thirst mere miles away from Mos Espa whose stiff fingers still grasped the wooden chest of dragon eggs. A year later, as their homes burned and the newborn dragons screeched to life, Anakin knew they would find safety and a new home away from slavery if they followed the red comet. Years after that, his dreams showed him that the great slave cities could fall, which emboldened them in increasing their freedom runs and making battle plans. There were countless other dreams that aided them as well.

The only visions he had that hadn’t come true yet were of a brown-eyed woman. He had seen her since he was a slave boy working in Watto’s smithy. She wore strange clothes, but she looked kind and brave and beautiful. What’s more, she was in a verdant land with vibrant blue water, so different from the sandy waste Anakin and his family called home.

He had always shared his visions without hesitation. So he didn’t see any reason not to share that one with everyone as well.

“I’m going to marry her when I’m older,” he had announced after describing what he saw.

This, of course, resulted in uproarious laughter from Kitster and the other children as well as indulgent smiles from the adults. Missandei alone took him seriously, but she asked more about the lovely green place rather than the beautiful woman and wondered if they would live there once they were free.

“The girl could be the daughter of Lord Tarkin,” Missandei suggested now, resting a calming hand on his arm. “The green place could be in Westeros and your vision could mean that our people will find a permanent home there. But first, we must meet Lord Tarkin and make him our ally. It’s what he must want too.”  

For one of the very few times in their lives, Missandei was wrong.

This Tarkin didn’t want an alliance, and he made no mention of marriage. The negotiation that took place the day after the feast they held in their honor was far less flattering.

“Our offer is a very lucrative one and very suited to your skills,” Lord Tarkin said briskly, before spouting out amounts of gold and silvers, as well as details on how he intended to deploy them.

One glance to the left told Anakin that Missandei was just as annoyed as he was.

 _This man,_ Anakin thought as he glared at Tarkin. _This man wants slaves. He means to buy us._

“You want us to burn your people?” Missandei asked in the Westerosi tongue. Though she had insisted years ago that they all learn that language, as well as a number of others, she was the one who spoke it best and had been doing most of the talking during their meeting. Despite this, Tarkin seemed to be directing his part of the conversation toward Anakin for some reason.

“They are traitors, I'm afraid,” Lord Orson Krennic said.

Anakin noticed the annoyance that flashed across Tarkin’s face for the briefest second. “These people support the false queen,” he said slowly in a condescending tone. “We cannot leave her allies unmolested or they will fight us and strengthen her.”

“But these sound like villages and farmland, not just holdfasts,” Kitster said in High Valyrian, which Missandei translated.

“Surely you are well-versed in the ways of war.” Lord Krennic chuckled. “We wouldn’t be here otherwise. Word of your prowess in combat has reach us all the way across the Narrow Sea. You have skill. We can guide that talent toward a greater purpose.”

“By killing common people and wasting food,” Anakin scoffed in High Valyrian.

He couldn’t say that there had never been casualties in their fight, but they had always done what they could to minimize them. They went after the masters themselves, not farmers and herdsmen. They had spent years working with the underground freedom movements in each city long before they let their dragons loose on the pyramids and flew them against marshalled armies.

Missandei nodded at him in agreement.

“What did he say, girl?” Tarkin demanded. “Translate. Quickly!”

“Girl!” Anakin and Kitster shouted in the Westerosi tongue.

Missandei stood abruptly. “You address a _queen_.”

The words were simple and calmly delivered, yet Anakin could see the slight tremor of rage in her slight form.

A silence stretched on between them all. Krennic seemed amused and incredulous while Tarkin’s mouth was twisted with impatience.

Krennic leaned forward toward Anakin. “You know, I have a bit of the blood of the dragon in me, as well. A few generations back. The daughter of a Targaryen princess married into my House. We could be distant kin.”

Anakin stared at him incredulously.

Missandei looked at Anakin with a silent question. He shook his head. This meeting was over. She looked to her other side. Kitster must have agreed as well because she turned back to their guests with the stiff cordiality that had been hammered into her in childhood.

“Thank you for your offers,” Missandei said. “But we cannot commit to such an agreement. We have many responsibilities here.”

“Have you lost your senses?” Krennic sputtered.

Tarkin rose and calmly addressed Anakin. “You seem to understand the common tongue… Your Grace. Mayhaps we could speak with you directly. I’m certain we can come to an understanding.”

Anakin scoffed and cursed in High Valyrian.

“He says, ‘No,’” Missandei translated.

Once the Westerosi departed the audience chamber in a huff, the trio began talking at once.

“Forgive me,” Missandei said, sinking into her seat. “I was wrong.”

“Can you believe that foul-”

“Is that what they think? We’re nothing but thugs?”

They went on and on exclaiming about their guests’ offer until they fell silent and thoughtful.

“Mayhaps we shouldn’t have rejected their offer outright,” Missandei said at last.

Anakin sat upright from the couch he had collapsed on. “You can’t mean-”

“No, we couldn’t accept,” she said. “But we can’t stay here. We call ourselves the kings and queen of Freedman’s Bay and our people call us Sky Walkers. But to everyone else, we’re upjumped slaves, and we ought to be used as sellsords or destroyed.”

“Word on the docks is that Volantis, Qarth, the Dothraki, and other cities are making common cause against us,” Kitster said. He kept his back to Anakin as he stared out the window overlooking Meereen. “It is possible to kill three dragons and even easier to kill their riders.”

“He’s right,” Missandei agreed. She began to pace about the room. “We aren’t Valyria of old. We don’t have thousands of dragons.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t fight them,” Anakin insisted. “We have never relied only on our dragons. The Unsullied guard each city, there are growing fighting companies among the Freedmen. We will outmaneuver them.”

“Outmaneuver the whole of Essos? We can only do that for so long.”

Anakin was on his feet. “So you would have us become sellswords?”

“We could negotiate,” she insisted. “We can make our own terms.”

“Such as marriage?” Kitster asked incredulously over his shoulder.

“Such as land,” she replied. “Land and safety for us and our people. Usually Westerosi barter that with marriage, but they give land and castles as rewards in war as well.”

“They’ll have us burn castles and give us the ruins,” Anakin said bitterly. “I say we-”

Just then, one of the cupbearers raced into the room. “Forgive this one, Magnificences. But more Westerosi have arrived in the harbor.”

“More?” Anakin raced to the window to stand beside Kitster. “Are they attacking?”

“No, Magnificence,” the girl assured them. “They say, they have come to call upon the Sky Walkers in the name of Queen Padmé of House Naberrie.”

After giving orders for a feast to be prepared and rooms to be readied for their new guests, the trio hurried down to receive the new Westerosi delegates. Even if they only wished to use them as sellswords, if the other side of this was courting them, they could drive up their price.

“Mayhaps you should speak this time,” Missandei whispered to Anakin.

“You’re better at the Westerosi tongue,” he argued. No one mastered languages like her.

“But…” She turned her dark eyes away from him. “But you… you look like them. And you are a man. They might respect you more.”

A flare of anger shot through Anakin. He wanted to refute her claim. Tell her she was wrong. Only a fool wouldn’t respect her. But then he remembered the way Tarkin and Krennic directed the conversation at him instead of Missandei who had been doing the talking for them. Anakin and Kitster cursed as one.

Missandei brought them to a stop outside the Great Pyramid’s reception area. “We must focus on the practical. What will give us the greatest opportunity? Going into rages will not serve.”

Anakin crossed his arms, hiding his hands within the sleeves of his shirt. “What will you have me say?”

They quickly went over the exact phrasing. He repeated it back to her to make certain the pronunciation was correct and they were ready to go through the doors to greet their new guests.

Anakin scanned the group before them and struggled to hide a smirk. He only passingly resembled one of them in skin tone and manhood. The one at the center of the group was a woman with rich brown skin and straight black hair like Kitster. She was flanked on either side by men. To her left was a fair skinned man with yellow hair and a round belly. To her right stood a man as dark as a Summer Islander, but instead of the vibrant feather cloak, he wore a white metal suit. Anakin’s gaze shifted to the man’s right and…. It was as though he had been punched so hard, all the air had been forced out of him.

The girl with the brown eyes stood there staring straight ahead.

Anakin was vaguely aware of the herald announcing them as they strode forward. All he could see was her. Those brown eyes widened as though in surprised as he stopped directly in front of her, but otherwise, she didn’t move.

“Ani?” Kitster hissed at his side.

Anakin swallowed, trying to regain himself, though he couldn’t peel his gaze from her. The words they planned suddenly came back to him and he used them to fill the awkward silence.

“My siblings and I welcome you to the great city of Meereen,” he said directly to her in Westerosi. “We hope this meeting will lead to a great friendship between Freedman’s Bay and your fair Sunset Kingdoms.”

* * *

“They know,” Padmé whispered once their party had been left alone in the apartments their hosts provided for them.

Ser Quarsh cleared his throat and motioned for the guards to search the rooms. While the men did their work, looking for obvious hidden spaces and passages, as well as any spies who might lurk within, Padmé took deep breaths through her nose and out her mouth to calm herself. _They knew. They knew. But how?_

“If they know, they must wish for us to be aware of that fact,” Jamillia said once the Lord Commander assured them they were safe. “He was not subtle.”

“You forget, princess that they were slaves,” Lord Manderly said. “What can they know of subtly?”

“A great deal,” Jamillia said.

Padmé’s mind raced through the greeting again and again hoping to find some clue to explain this.

The trio of Sky Walkers had strode in looking as magnificent as the trader claimed. Tucked just behind Ser Quarsh, Padmé had kept her face a blank mask, but felt free to take them in without fear of being observed. Surely, the more elaborately dressed Princess Jamillia and Lord Manderly would hold their attention. So it shocked Padmé down to her bones to find the intense azure gaze of the one with the blond, shaggy hair locked upon her. It was overwhelming to be stared at so fervently. She knew she was lost when he stopped directly in front of her and delivered the heavily accented greeting referring to Padmé’s kingdoms.

Ser Quarsh had attempted to salvage the rouse by sliding between the man -- Anakin, his name was Anakin -- and Padmé and introducing her as Lady Dormé of House Ashford. Princess Jamillia had steered the conversation from there until Queen Missandei announced that a feast would be prepared in their honor and gave them an opportunity to rest in the guest quarters.  
“I don’t believe all three of them know,” Ser Quarsh said. “If any of them do. The other two Sky Walkers seemed as taken aback as we were. Mayhaps he was confused over which of us to greet. Their queen spoke the common tongue best. He might not be as well versed in diplomacy.”

Padmé felt herself calming. “Whether they are aware of my identity or not, we should proceed as planned. The warmth of their welcome suggests that they haven’t made an alliance with the traitors yet. We must find where their leanings are and draw them to our side.”

A long silence followed this statement.

Lord Manderly cleared his throat. “Your Grace, do you think it is possible that you could claim one of the dragons for yourself?”

Padmé turned to him with a jolt. A quick glance around showed raised eyebrows and interest. Could she? The blood of the dragon was in her.

“My family’s dragons died long ago,” she said. “I’ve only seen their skulls. Mayhaps we can convinced them to let us see their dragons and we can decide how possible claiming one would be. For now, we have a feast to prepare for.”

Considering what little time they had to prepare, their hosts provided them with an impressive feast. Men and women performed impressive feats of acrobatics while wearing so little that Padmé was in a continual blush until they finally stopped. But then the food came. She had to politely refuse the crocodile, squid, dog, and grubs the servers offered before she thankfully accepted the duck. The queen silently thanks the Seven that she wasn’t seated at the dias with Jamillia, Manderly, Panaka, the traitors, and the Sky Walkers. If she were, she would have no choice but to sample everything offered with a smile and a compliment. Seated at one of the lower tables with Sabé and a few knights, she and her rudeness could go unnoticed. Mostly unnoticed.

King Kitster and Queen Missandei had given her curious, appraising looks when the feast began, but now both were absorbed in their own conversations. Anakin, on the other hand, was a different story. Though she could see that he was putting in a conscious effort not to stare at her, Padmé felt the weight of Anakin’s gaze like a physical thing. Worse than that was the way her own eyes seemed to be drawn to him.

“Mayhaps we should talk to him,” Sabé suggested. “If he’s this taken with you, he might tell us anything we want to know.”

“You’re right, we should take advantage of this,” Padmé agreed. She dismissed Ser Simon Farring, who had been sitting beside her. “Stay close, but don’t interfere unless I signal for you.”

Allowing a few moments to pass, Padmé casually looked about the large hall taking in the designs that were so lovely and strange. Then she allowed her eyes to fall upon Anakin again. He was talking to Lord Orson Krennic. Or more accurately, being talked to by Lord Krennic, while silently glaring. His gaze shifted back toward her again. Padmé gave him her warmest smile. Just like that, he rose from his seat and made his way to her, leaving Krennic to sputter off in mid-sentence.

“Be careful, brother!” Kitster called after him in High Valyrian.

“Shut up!” Anakin called back, not turning away from Padmé.

He greeted both Padmé and her companions politely in the Common Tongue before asking, “May I sit with you?”

“Of course,” Padmé said. “We’re honored that a king would come all this way from the dais to sit with us lowly handmaidens.”

She studied his features as he took the seat beside her and he didn’t seem incredulous. But when he spoke, his voice was tight.

“I was born a slave,” he reminded her. “Most would say you honor me by even coming here.”

Padmé felt her stomach drop and hoped against hope that she hadn’t harmed any chance at negotiating with him.

“Your origins make your achievements all the greater,” she said and was taken aback with how true that was. “Being born into a line of succession doesn’t take any skill at all.”  
He studied her for a time, the intensity of his stare making her nervous. Finally, he said, “My thanks.”

Sabé leaned forward from the other side of Padmé. “We noticed our delegation isn’t the first to arrive.”

Padmé noted the openly annoyed expression that overtook his face.  
“They were hoping we would terrorize your countrymen,” he said.

“Hoping?” Padmé asked, in what she prayed was a nonchalant tone. “You don’t mean to accept them?”

“No,” he said simply.

It took everything in her to keep her face calm and placid. But she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Seven. Even if her party failed to sway them, at least they wouldn’t have to face dragon fire.

“What do you think of Meereen,” Anakin asked.

“You have a beautiful city,” she lied automatically.

His eyebrows crushed together in confusion. “Beautiful? You like how the city looks?”

Padmé restrained a grimace. She was so used to flattering vassals for their ugly, inhospitable land or their dull castle or their plain-faced son. Of course this man wouldn’t play those games. Either he wouldn’t trust her now or he would think her simple-minded.

Quickly, she tried to think of something about the war-torn city to commend. The pyramids still held marks of dragonflame while other parts of the city they passed looked to be under construction.

“Your buildings are so different from ours,” Padmé explained carefully. “Even battered from a few battles, they are so unique. I know they will be lovely again once you finish rebuilding.”

“What does your home look like,” he asked. “I heard Westeros has green rolling hills and blue lakes.”

Bitterly, Padmé remembered her family home the way it looked when last she saw it beside the lake with a small island she and her sister could swim out to.

“My home … Varykino Hall was beautiful before the war,” she said.

Her glare instinctively went to Tarkin, who was staring at them openly. She had no fear that he would recognize her without the queen’s regalia. He had only been in the same room with her twice and both times she sat the Iron Throne with a crown atop her head dressed in clothing made of the very best fabric with eye-catching style. He would never know her garbed in plainer gowns. Before, she had forced herself to pretend he wasn’t here so she could keep her mind focused.  But now…

“Until he sacked it.”

Too late, Padmé realized her mistake. Dormé’s home hadn’t been sacked. She turned back to Anakin to see how she could salvage this, but he had followed her gaze to Tarkin.

He turned back to her. “Did he kill your family?”

The genuine concern on his face somehow made it impossible for her to lie.

“A cousin of mine, Garlan, died defending the castle,” she said. “My mother and others escaped when they heard the army was coming.”

That had been mere months ago and her anger was still fresh at any mention of it.

“She had tried to gather as many of our people as she could, but many were put to the sword and our crops were burned. The rest barely made it to- to- to the queen’s loyalists for safety.”

“What of your father?” he asked.

“He died.” Padmé swallowed. “Years ago. In a fire.” Along with nearly all of House Targaryen. “My mother is all I have left of my family.”

Her eyes widened in surprise as he rested his hand over hers and squeezed.

“I…” She ought to pull away and chastise him for taking such a liberty with her. Yet, when she looked up at and saw the earnest sympathy in his blue eyes, she found the warmth of his calloused hand on hers to be comforting.

“Men were sent after my mother too,” Anakin said. “We once had freedom runs long before we held open battle against the slavers. We would spirit a number of them out of cities or away from the Dothraki, and we would bring them to Vaes Tolorro to live free. When we began our campaign, the slavers sent eight slaves who were promised freedom and gold in exchange for killing our parents. They must have known the slaves could never leave alive were they to even attempt such a thing. The slaves knew it too, so most didn’t make the attempt. Only three, who had family waiting for them did. They killed Missandei and Kitster’s fathers only for our mothers to capture and interrogate them.”

He dropped his gaze down to their joined hands.

“I know it isn’t the same as losing a father,” Anakin said. “But for me, they were each as near a father to me that it made no matter.”

The naked sincerity on his downcast features nearly took the air from Padmé’s chest. This wasn’t political maneuvering or anything less than genuine and vulnerable.

Without thinking, Padmé turned her hand over so they were palm to palm and clasped him tight.

“You never knew your father?” she asked, still watching their joined hands.

Anakin’s grip on her tightened. “There was no father.”

She jolted at the sudden shift in him. Then a moment later, the unspoken meaning dawned upon her. _Bastard. He is a bastard._ Hopes she hadn’t realized she had been forming instantly began to dim. Could her people accept a former slave, a foreigner, and a bastard? Would a dragon or three be enough to counter that?

The lessons of her septa came flooding back to her. Bastards were wicked. Evil by nature since they were begotten by sin.

“Who rules your old city now that your fathers died?” Sabé asked.

Padmé instantly drew back from Anakin. Somehow she had forgotten they weren’t alone. A general glance around showed that others were observing them, namely Tarkin, Panaka, Krennic, Missandei, and Manderly.

“Our mothers still hold the rule,” he said. “They held a vote to decide who would take their husbands’ places on the council, but most only look to our mothers for leadership.”

“Women rule as equals in your city?” Sabé exclaimed.

“Yes, just as Missandei does here.”

Padmé considered this. That must mean… “Your mother’s have dragons too?”

“No,” Anakin said slowly, confusion clear in his tone.

“I only thought- Women usually only rule when there are no men left. Our queen only holds the title because every man -- and woman -- who was ahead of her in succession died.” She paused, then on impulse, added, “She struggles to find a husband because she isn’t simply choosing a lord for herself or a father for her children. She is choosing the man who will rule Westeros in her name. So I thought having a dragon might be what made you give Queen Missandei an equal place beside you.”

Padmé watched the play of emotions dance across Anakin’s face -- first confusion, then incredulity, and finally amusement --- and found that she liked the sight. The openness of this man… she had never seen the like. As soon as he felt something, he expressed it. Lord Manderly was right about his lack of subtlety, and she liked Anakin the better for it.

“Our mothers earned their own places as our leaders,” Anakin said through an amused grin. “As for Missandei…” He glanced over at the dais where she was in conversation with Lord Manderly. “I think the dragons gave us an equal place with _her_. When we were slaves as children, she ranked above us because of how many languages she knew, how good at figures she was, and …. How much knowledge she could hold in her head at once. I didn’t even know how to read until we left. The dragons, they changed everything.”

A shadow seemed to fall over his mood and he stared beyond Padmé at something she couldn’t see. Padmé glanced back at Sabé, but she appeared just as confused as she was. Padmé tried to think of a subject to steer the conversation toward, when a screech cut through the conversation and bustle of the feast. After a beat, most continued chattering, but the Westerosi continued to look about in concern.

“Do you want to see Ebrion?” Anakin asked abruptly, standing up.

“Ebrion?” Padmé rose to her feet as well.

Anakin took her hand and pulled her along after him. “My dragon.”

 _Dragon_. Padmé was lightheaded at the very thought. “Yes, please, show it to me.”

Before they took more than a few steps, Ser Quarsh was before them. They stopped so abruptly, Sabé and Ser Simon bumped into them.

“Dormé,” Ser Quarsh said tightly. “I should escort you and Sabé back to our apartments. The hour is late.”

“King Anakin has been so kind as to allow me to see his dragon,” Padmé said. “You ought to come along.”

Ser Quarsh’s face remained expressionless, but he seemed to grasp the import of this moment and silently followed close beside her along with a few other knights and Sabé.

Anakin led them down staircase after staircase, past the floor she entered the pyramid on earlier that day. Finally, he led them away from the stairs and down a hall that smelled like a stable.

“What story are we on,” Ser Quarsh asked. The Lord Commander of the Queensguard had maneuvered so he strode between Padmé and their host.

“This is the base of the Great Pyramid,” Anakin said. “We keep our animals here. This way.”

He guided them past rows of stalls until they finally reached a cavernous space with two guards on either side of the entry. Padmé peered within, though Ser Quarsh reached out an arm to shield her. She couldn’t make out much in the darkness, but she heard a soft screech and the clank of chains.

Anakin helped the guards light torches around the cavernous room and slowly the large creatures within became visible in the golden glow of flame.

Before that moment, Padmé  had only seen the black dragon skulls that lined her throne room and the ones stored lower in the Red Keep where she and Sola had played with their cousins when they came to visit. She had run her fingers across the smooth, black bones that were cold at the touch and tried to imagine what they had been like with flesh and scales and fire coursing through them. Even her imaginings had fallen short.

There were three, as expected. Two slept, their long, serpentine necks entwined with each other. The one that was awake had scales as dark as pitch, but its eyes were so blue they seemed to shine in the darkness. And those eyes were settled upon her.

“Dormé?”

Anakin was beside them again, but she only noticed him in her peripheral view. She was completely fixated on the dragon.

“Dormé?” Anakin said again and she felt him take her hand again. “Come, meet Ebrion.”

Ser Quarsh’s arm remained firmly blocking her. “This is close enough.”

“She won’t hurt any of you,” Anakin assured them.

“We saw the charred remains of some of the buildings,” the knight shot back. “Dragons are far from harmless.”

“They only attack when we command them or if they’re threatened,” Anakin insisted. “They’re well trained.”

Recovering from her awe at the sight of living dragons, Padmé was able to take in the details. While all three were chained, they didn’t appear to be wild. The chains clanked if they shifted or moved about, but they weren’t thrashing against the restraints. The black one stepped toward them, calm and mayhaps curious. There were no signs of aggression. An even better sign was the pile of bones not far from the beasts; they had already eaten.

Resting a free hand on Ser Quarsh’s arm, Padmé said, “If we weren’t safe, I am certain our host wouldn’t bring us here.”

She and the Lord Commander of her Queensguard held each other’s gaze for a time. Giving him a direct order would settle the matter -- but it would break character. The queen refused to relent. “We didn’t come down all those steps for a brief glance, ser.”

With a tight bow of his head, the Lord Commander made way. She squeezed Ser Quarsh’s arm as reassurance she passed.

The dragon’s blue eyes seemed to watch her approach, taking her measure just as she was taking its. As magnificent as the beast was, its head wasn’t nearly as massive as the largest skulls that hung in the throne room.

Tentatively, Padmé reached out and pressed a palm against the dark scales as soon as she was within reach. The dragon skulls she grew up with had always sent cold seeping through her. This creature was the opposite. Hot to the touch, Ebrion seemed to warm her and press itself against her palm.

Padmé turned to her host. The smile that had overtaken Anakin’s face robbed her of speech. Like an infection, the grin seemed to be pass to her own face as well and she turned back to the dragon, embarrassed.

“How old is it?” she asked.

“They hatched ten years ago,” he said.

“You must have been children then,” Padmé observed.

Anakin nodded. “We were nine. There was a slave revolt in the town we lived in. Many died on both sides and fires caught everywhere, including the place we hid our eggs. Like fools, we ran into the building to save them. When we found them, they were free of their shells and already trying to fly.”

“That is-”

“Lord Krennic,” Sabé called loudly. “You followed us.”

Padmé whirled around to find the sandy-haired Orson Krennic striding into the cavernous room, a friendly smile on his face. “Forgive me, I thought we were all invited to see the dragons.”

“What made you think that?” Anakin demanded.

Krennic kept his attention on the dragons. “They are impressive beasts. As I mentioned, I am of the blood of the dragon, so they hold a keen interest for me. There are even those who believe I should be king.”

“Who believes that?” Padmé cried in astonishment. Not even the traitors had raised him up to be the true king. “I have never heard of any support for a claim of yours. You weren’t even mentioned during the last Great Council.”

Krennic waved her off and continued edging toward Ebrion. He reached out to the dragon as Padmé had, but the beast let out a roar that sent Krennic stumbling backward.

“That was a warning,” Anakin said, a note of annoyance in his tone.

The other two dragons signaled that they had awoken with screeches of their own.

“Mayhaps it’s time we took our leave,” Ser Quarsh said to Padmé.

She nodded. “We should let them get their rest.”

Anakin looked disappointed, but he didn’t argue. “You’ll be taking your leave as well, Lord Krennic. This isn’t the place for you.”

Padmé noticed that while the traitor didn’t fight this, he kept looking back at the dragons longingly. She didn’t blame him. This visit made her all the more skeptical that she could claim one for her own, no matter how much that would aid her cause.

* * *

In the days that followed, Anakin tried to spend as much time as he could with Dormé. Her handmaiden friend, Sabé, and a couple of guards, including Ser Quarsh, were always with them, but that made no matter. They were all interesting and pleasant enough. He showed them various parts of the city and asked them questions about their homeland. The group even shared a few meals with him, Missandei, and Kitster in their apartments at the apex of the pyramid.

He also saw her at the negotiations his siblings and her queen’s delegates had, though she and Sabé never spoke. There was much more of an equal dialogue in those meetings than there had been with Tarkin and Krennic. Each side listened to each other’s needs and limitations and tried to come closer and closer to a mutually beneficial arrangement. They met a few more times with the opposition, which resulted in them being offered more and more gold as well as Westerosi whores, strangely.

Ser Quarsh seemed to mistrust him at first and was particularly protective of Dormé, which made Anakin wonder if he had broken some Westerosi rule with her. But by the end of a week, he and Ser Quarsh were on easy terms. In a rare argument Anakin had with Dormé, the knight even mildly took his side.

He had been showing them the largest of the fighting pits, the Great Pit of Daznak, and Dormé was shocked that they continued to allow the blood sports even after casting down the slavers.

“No one is forced to compete,” Anakin assured her. “Before, the masters forced them in the pit for their gain. Now these men and women are able to do what they were trained for or not, and they keep the prize money rather than earning it for another. Every pit fighter competes by choice and is rewarded.”

“Rewarded with death?” she countered.

“We _honor_ the fallen,” he insisted. “Their names are engraved on the Gates of Fate. Those who win gain wealth and are treated with respect.”

Dormé was ready to disagree, but Ser Quarsh said, “That sounds like a form of the tourneys held in Westeros.”

“How can you compare jousting with fighting to the death?”

“Many have died jousting, my lady” the knight said. “A lance to the eye or neck, a fall from the horse, a horse crushing the rider. The melees offer more opportunities for death. But worse than those who die are the living wounded who lost limbs or will never be what they were before competing. One of the Darrys received a blow to the head. Though he outwardly recovered, he suffers constant headaches and can’t ride too long without falling. He wasn’t honored as these fighters are. He’s laughed at and his father wishes for the lordship to pass to his younger son instead of him.”

Dormé didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push the subject.

He was getting on so well with Ser Quarsh that Anakin risked a roundabout suggestion that Dormé go for a ride with him on Ebrion.

“You should buy a pair of these sandsilk trousers,” Anakin suggested while they strolled through the market.

“Trousers?” Dormé cried. “I only wear trousers when I ride.”

He grinned at that. “That’s why you need a pair. You can’t ride a dragon in that.” He gestured to the stiff garb she wore. “You need something you can move in. That dress would serve as well.” He gestured to a sheer yellow dress with pink flowers sewn into a design. “Though it isn’t as modest as the rest of your Westerosi garb.”

The look of pure delight that overtook her face made him grin even wider.

“That would be unwise,” Ser Quarsh told her.

“The queen sent us here for dragons,” she countered.

Dormé purchased both a pair of sandsilk trousers and the sheer yellow dress with the pink flowers. Sabé also bought her own trousers, but paired them with an airy white shirt.

The next day, Dormé and Ser Quarsh met Anakin at the terrace garden outside the apartments he shared with Missandei and Kitster at the apex of the pyramid. He had flown Ebrion there so Dormé could see her at her full glory in the light of day.

“She’s beautiful,” Dormé said in a hushed voice as she ran her hand over Ebrion’s azure horn. “I thought she was all black like the Balerion the Dread. I understand her name now.”

“You speak High Valyrian?” Anakin asked in surprise. He had named her for the night’s sky since her scales were black, while her horns, the ridge of her back, and the wing bones were a deep, dark blue.

Dormé continued running her fingers along Ebrion’s scales. “I believe all maesters teach a bit of it to their students. But it’s spoken so rarely that most only know a few words.”

Anakin helped Dormé climb up in front of the saddle atop his dragon’s back before following behind. They hadn’t even left the ground yet, but Anakin knew this was the way it was meant to be. Both of them together, her body flush against his, the whole world before them...  Ebrion had taken to Dormé immediately, which only made him more certain that his interpretation of the vision was coming true.

With the pair settled, Ebrion took to the sky as smoothly as a fish gliding through water. Dormé gasped and fumbled for the reins that were already in Anakin’s grasp.

He couldn’t help laughing. “It’s alright. I have her in hand.”

She didn’t release her grip. “I need to hold them.”

“As you wish, milady,” he said dropped one hand to her waist and held her firmly against himself. The other hand remained with hers on the reins.

“How do you control her?” Dormé asked.

“My mind merges with hers,” he explained. “She shares the same goals, the same tactics, the same hates, and the same loves with me. That’s why she liked you straight away.”

Dormé stiffened in front of him and didn’t respond. He hoped he hadn’t offended her. These Westerosi had strange manners and practices. Rarely did he have a conversation with one of them where he didn’t wonder if some unknown rule had been broken.

Holding tight to her waist and the reins, Anakin spun them about in a circling around the city before guiding her in a quick flip that made Dormé gasp. When they steadied, he took them inland, away from the coast toward Lhazar.

“But why?” Dormé asked.

“Why?”

“Why did Ebrion like me immediately?” she clarified. “Why do _you_?”

Anakin felt a prick of uncertainty. She might think him mad if he told her the truth. He had hoped to tell her later once everything was settled and the knowledge would only make her more certain of what she already felt.

“Why would I not like you?” he asked.

“Anakin, you have been very honest with me,” she said. “I have appreciated that.”

“I want to be honest with you,” he said. No, it was essential that there was only honesty between them. “But I don’t want to scare you.”

She looked back at him sharply and her voice seemed to deepen as she asked, “Should I be scared?”

“No!” he cried. “But… It isn’t normal. I have dreams, visions. They come true.”

She made no answer. She simply continued to stare at him, her face was still and unreadable, so he quickly continued, hoping against hope that this wouldn’t make her turn away from him.

“My dreams brought us the dragons and found us a home. They also showed me glimpses of you. The first time I had a vision of you, I knew… I knew I would marry you.”

Dormé blinked a few times before turning to stare straight ahead of them again.

Anakin suddenly regretted the closeness between them. She must want space from him. Time to consider this. Without needing to tell her, Ebrion was already descending from the sky into the grassy field below. When she landed, neither of them moved.

“Did I upset you?” he asked.

“No, it’s only that -- that would solve all of our problems,” she said, though her tone suggested that she didn’t see that as something to rejoice over.

“Yes.” Anakin folded both of his arms around her. He had to make her see that he could be of use to her. Love could follow after. “I can solve all of your problems, no matter what they are.”

He probably shouldn’t make such a promise, not with the news that their enemies were closing in on them and even Missandei could see that they couldn’t abandon the cities and spirit their people away in time. But he was certain they could handle both responsibilities.

She seemed to relax into his embrace, though she didn’t turn to look at him again. Anakin buried his face in her brown curls.

“You ought to wait until the end of the negotiations,” Dormé said. “You could be offered a far better match than me. The queen might want to marry you. Or a lady from one of the Great Houses.”

“Kitster can marry your queen or one of those ladies,” Anakin said. “I want you, if you will have me.”

Dormé shook in his arms and it took him a moment to realize she was laughing. “You want _me_. Not the queen.”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“If only you _could_ have me and not the queen.” Dormé twisted herself in his arms as much as she could to look back at him. She searched his face, first with those brown eyes and then with the tips of her fingers along his cheek.

“It's impossible to believe,” she said. “I don’t think you realize your own worth, Anakin.”

Unfortunately, Anakin knew his worth much too well. He knew he had to be of use to those around him, someone vital enough to keep. Somehow he had to be that to Dormé.

Anakin leaned his face into her hand. He watched her study him and realized that her gaze had halted to consider his mouth. That was all the encouragement he needed.

He pressed his lips to hers. Only a second’s hesitation passed before she returned the pressure. He deepened the kiss, running his tongue along the line of her lips. With a gasp she drew back, her brown eyes wide and startled.

 _She must be a maid,_ Anakin realized. For the first time, he wondered how old she was. Then again, regardless of how old she was, Westeros was known for being prudish. Since she was unmarried, that meant she was a maid. What they did broke the rules of her culture.

Before he could think too long on that, Dormé adjusted herself so both of her legs hung down Ebrion’s right side and she faced him more easily. Fascinated, he watched her visibly steady herself before leaning forward, lips parted to kiss him again. Anakin met Dormé part way. Eagerly, he pulled her into his lap and kissed her as fully as he knew how, greedy for every gasp and sigh he drew from her. At the start, the handmaid let him take the lead, but before long Dormé moved in time with him, her tongue exploring his as daringly as he had hers.

Meanwhile, Anakin’s hands grasped at the yellow dress with one hand and let the other get lost in her rich brown curls. As her kisses grew bolder, he ran his hand down the yellow fabric and tugged up the skirt only to find the sandsilk trousers. He cursed himself for ever suggesting them. Still, Anakin’s hand slowly ran up the inner thigh to the core of her. Lightly, he ran circles over her through the fabric.

“You mustn’t!” she gasped and shifted her face away from him.

“I-” he began lamely, only to be cut off.

“Forgive me,” Dormé cried and turned away from him. “I was too forward.”

Anakin laughed at that. Wasn’t he the one actively trying to get her out of her trousers?

“Can I ask your queen’s ambassadors for you?” he whispered into her hair. “Or should I write to your mother? Or _fly_ to your mother and entreat her for your hand in person?”

“I-” Dormé drew in a breath. “I would talk to her councilors about this first. Mayhaps we should return to Meereen.”

The flight back was short and calming. Anakin had known that time alone would bring them closer together, but he hadn’t anticipated the trip being quite so successful. They were all but engaged, and Dormé was as attracted to him as he was to her. Everything could only improve for all of them now.

* * *

The silence that followed Padmé’s announcement of King Anakin’s proposals was like a physical weight upon her, though not unexpected. The three members of the council glanced at each other and then at anything else. Sabé stared blankly ahead, no reaction evident in her placid expression.

“Westeros will never accept him,” Jamillia said, breaking the silence. Though the princess’ tone was gentle, her response shocked the queen. Padmé had assumed she would be the most likely to look favorably on this.

“Dornish princes and princesses nearly always find their consorts in Essos,” Padmé said.

“We have wed nobles from Essos,”Jamillia clarified, “but this man is not noble. A former slave and bastard born? We are not so prickly on such things as the rest of Westeros. But even our people would balk at such a consort for our princess. For the queen of the Seven Kingdoms it would be unthinkable. There is even less hope to be found in the northern regions.”

“The North is loyal to our queen,” Lord Manderly insisted.

“The North, mayhaps,” Jamillia allowed, skepticism dripping from her words. “But the Westerlands? The Stormlands? The Reach? The Vale? What would they say?”

“Anakin’s dragon would sway them, surely?” Padmé insisted.

Lord Manderly’s whiskers twisted. “His dragon… Forgive me, Your Grace, but is there no way you could take the dragon from him? Or one of the others?”

Padmé kept her chin high and her gaze level. She had no wish to lie to her council and even less of a wish to admit weakness to them. But she had no idea how to lure any of these dragons away from their riders. The histories told of which of her ancestors rode each dragon and whether the dragon was a hatchling who bonded with them during childhood or a beast who had multiple riders over the centuries of their lives. But never did she read of anyone claiming a dragon who had a current rider. She didn’t even understand the concept of bonding with a dragon. Besides, after seeing Anakin’s connection to Ebrion, she couldn’t even consider parting them. But that wasn’t something she could share with them anymore than she could tell them how the memory of his mouth on hers as his hands roved her body nearly stole all rational thought from her.

A far different approach would be needed to sway them from this line of thinking.

“I am but one woman,” Padmé said. “Not even Aegon the Conqueror himself rode more than one dragon. Should I take one of their dragons, the other two riders will turn their own beasts upon us. Binding them to our cause would be the greatest guarantee of creating peace.”

More silence followed this.

Exasperated, Padmé cried, “These people are fighting slavery with these dragons! How can we even contemplate stealing them? If we wish for the dragons to fight for us, we must needs come to an agreement with their riders.”

Manderly cleared his throat. “Your Grace, were your consort to have a dragon while you do not, there would be those who may see him as our true ruler rather than you.”

“The circumstances of his birth sink him too far below you,” Ser Quarsh mused. “Yet, his dragon raises him too far above you. It seems to me, the two truths combined would make him closer to a match for our queen. The dragon will make the people forget his origins until the notion of putting him in power is suggested. A consort who could never usurp you.”

Padmé’s eyes widened. Support from this corner was extremely unexpected. Then again, Ser Quarsh had slowly seemed to warm to Anakin as the days passed.

“The decision is yours, Your Grace,” Princess Jamillia said. “I would suggest any decision wait until we can possibly come to better terms without such a permanent alliance. What they want is land in Westeros. Should we prevail, many lands will be open to them in the Westerlands, Stormlands, and Riverlands.”

“Which will be met as poorly as sending food to the North was,” Ser Quarsh said.

Lord Manderly scoffed and a familiar red flushed up his neck. “The two cannot possibly be compared. The Northerners are Westerosi. The truest, purest Westerosi. These… people are not.”

“I believe the Lord Commander’s point is, there are no popular choices,” Padmé said before this could descend into an argument that would derail the discussion.

“A dragon permanently in Westeros, under the power of the throne would prevent any future wars,” Ser Quarsh said. “A dragon would insure acceptance of a sanctuary for these freedmen.”

A flaming weapon over the world to force compliance, the queen mused, a knot forming in her stomach. She hated the thought. But if it was for peace and for the good of everyone under her protection…

“Jamillia is right.” Padmé stood and smoothed out the plain brown dress she wore. The rest of the room stood with her. “We will observe how this negotiation progresses before giving an answer to this proposal. It may be that our people will be more accepting of that match if they can see them as allies first.”

Later that night, when she was free of the stiff undergarments and the queen’s mask, Padmé had another meeting with a councilor she found even more valuable. In the smallest chamber in the apartments, she sat on Sabé’s bed as the other woman brushed her hair and she shared the parts of her encounter with Anakin that she wouldn’t dare share with anyone but her closest handmaidens.

“I haven’t kissed anyone since Ser Rush and it was nothing like that,” she said.

“He truly grabbed your cunt without so much as a by your leave?” Sabé asked, beginning to braid her hair.

“Yes, I mean, well his hands had been going there and I hadn’t stopped him. It was … overwhelming. I…”

“You…” she prompted.

“I wanted it to go on,” Padmé admitted. Somehow saying it out loud to Sabé made that truth less shameful than it had been locked away in her mind.

“You should have had him then,” her handmaid said with a laugh. “Can you imagine losing your maidenhead atop a dragon? That would be so much more interesting than when I lost mine.”

They both laughed at that. When they were barely women grown at six-and-ten, Sabé had rebelled against her lord father’s announcement that she would be wed to the aging Lord Estermont and become the grandmother to children who were both older and a couple years younger than herself. Rather than wasting her maidenhood on that man’s “shriveled old cock,” as she put it, Sabé had openly taken the gold cloak captain, Tonra, as her lover and casually confirmed the “rumors” of it when her father demanded answers upon his arrival to the Red Keep. Only Padmé’s intervention prevented the man from forcing Sabé to become a silent sister since the old man would no longer marry her.

While a dragon hadn’t been involved, it was still a scandal. But not half as scandalous as it would be for Padmé to have any lover, especially this one.

“I’m only half japing, though,” Sabé said.

The braid finished, Padmé turned to look at her handmaiden. The other woman’s brown eyes were calm and steady.

“Were you a king, you would have as many lovers as you wished,” Sabé pointed out. “So long as you remained discreet, you would still be respected.”

Padmé tried to swallow down the temptation. “I’m not a king.”

“You’re Queen Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms,” Sabé said. “Also, I found a shop here that sells the Meereenese equivalent to moon tea, in case you have any need of it.”

Padmé said nothing.

The handmaiden shrugged and began brushing her own hair. “I only thought it was what you wanted. You seemed to be urging the council members in his favor. If you have him this way, afterward, you will know if you truly see the match as a good one for Westeros or if you’re merely very taken with him.”

With a cry, Padmé shot to her feet. Only one of her trusted handmaidens could get away with such a statement. And only Sabé would dare.

“You think me swayed by passion?” Padmé demanded.

She knew she couldn’t even claim that the idea was completely without merit. Not with the memory of Anakin’s hands and mouth on her. Even just the memory of his hot breath on her skin sent a flush through her that pooled between her thighs. What if she had allowed him to continue?

“I’ve never seen you this way with a man before,” Sabé said.

When the queen realized she couldn’t refute that either, she turned and squeezed into her own tiny bed. As she listened to Sabé settling in for the night, Padmé thought over the men and boys she had danced with, kissed, and considered as possible husbands. She had first felt desire with Palo, a young artist who painted her portrait. After a servant told Palpatine that they were kissing during their sessions, Padmé had had to beg him not to have the boy’s hands cut off. With Rush Clovis, she had gone a little farther, touching each other more than they should. But never had she been tempted to risk her virtue nor wed him. Others, she considered marrying were kept only to social gatherings and meetings.

With Anakin, she couldn’t hide behind queenly formality of courtship and politics. He courted her as he might any other woman. The allure of that threatened to overwhelm her.

“Mayhaps you’re right,” Padmé said.

Sabé’s only response was a sleepy, “Mhmm…”

If her leanings on a possible marriage alliance was clouded by her desire for him, wouldn’t sating her lust clear her mind? Sabé took lovers and never seemed uncertain about anything.

She looked over and Sabé’s chest was rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep. So the queen blew out the candle on the table between them and snuggled back into her blankets. After a moment’s hesitation, she tugged the night dress she wore up and slid a hand between her legs. As her fingers did their work, she wondered what Anakin’s rough fingers would have felt like.

* * *

Wilhuff Tarkin glared out over the hot, dusty city of Meereen, his thin mouth in an even tighter line than usual. He wasn’t accustomed to failure. He certainly wasn’t in the habit of being used as leverage in a bargaining match. The longer their party remained in that Seven forsaken city, the more Tarkin realized that the slaves were using him to garner better terms with the queen’s loyalists. It was clear that their leader, Anakin, was smitten with Lady Dormé Ashford. Apparently, that alone was leading him toward the queen’s cause. Though a lovely little thing, the Ashford girl was not so tempting a prize to base such a lucrative decision on. As Tarkin had suggested during their meetings since, many such girls could be found in Westeros and made available to him. Yet, that only seemed to confuse the boy.

Tarkin had no wish to return to Westeros in failure. This loss had to appear to be on his terms and to his benefit.

A door opened behind him and the distinct sound of Orson Krennic’s boots sounded on the stone. Tarkin’s mouth became even grimmer. The offensiveness of being in this city and treated with such disregard by these mongrels was only matched by the indignity of being partnered with such a fool. Since the war began, men of little note had attempted to use the conflict to catapult their own aims. Most grasping, determined, and worthless of them had been Krennic. The man had clawed his way past others and now sought to displace Tarkin himself.

“He took that whore flying on his dragon,” Orson announced as he stormed into their apartments. “I heard from the servants that he took her yesterday and they intend to fly out again today. Lady Dormé is little more than a minor lord’s daughter and she has the honor of riding a dragon? She has no dragon’s blood in her!”

Though Tarkin gave no outward sign of acknowledgment, the abrupt announcement hit him like a final blow.

Yes, he mused to himself. Our cause is lost. There will be no contracting these mercenaries. Not if that Sky Walker is besotted enough to share the skies with that whore.

The Targaryens of old had rarely allowed another to ride with them unless they were family or their love. Foolish boy!

But how could he return without anything to show for such a long and costly voyage? If he were seen returning in disgrace while the queen gained three dragons that would be the end of all his plans with Lord Palpatine.

Vaguely, Tarkin realized Krennic was still ranting behind him.

 “I have half a mind to go down to that overlarge stable and take one of those dragons myself,” Orson said. “Is it not my right?”

Tarkin didn’t respond right away. A dragon was certainly not that man’s right. Such a powerful weapon under the control of such a foolish blowhard would be madness. Yet…

“You told me the dragons didn’t take well to you,” Tarkin observed. “Mayhaps the blood of the dragon has been bred out of your line. The marriage happened so many generations ago that no one but you can recall that it occurred at all.”

Krennic cursed.

His back still to the man, Tarkin’s mouth curved ever so lightly. Krennic was tiring, but at least his reins could be guided so easily.

“The blood of old Valyria is in me! Never doubt that!”

“If that were so, you would have no difficulty in claiming one of the dragons,” Tarkin reasoned. “If not, that would suggest that those dark Sky Walkers have purer blood than you.”

Through the side of his gaze, he saw Krennic stomp to his side. “Those dragons are mine by right! I won’t have any difficulty.”

Without another word, the sound of Krennic’s boots scuffing across the stones and the slamming of the apartment door signaled the man’s departure.

Still staring out at the dismal city, Tarkin allowed himself a small smile. This voyage might see some benefit after all.

* * *

“The longer we dither with these Westerosi, the tighter the noose our enemies have about our necks,” Kitster said.

They had just completed an audience with the envoy for the Lhazareen whose scouts had seen Khal Ogo’s Khalasar moving toward them. They would arrive within weeks.

“It is possible they may wait to join their numbers to another force so they might stand a better chance at overwhelming us,”Missandei said.

Anakin glanced up from the japor snippet he was carving to see his sister sanding over the map spread out on the table between them. A horse-shaped piece was placed along the outskirts of their neighbors in Lhazar.

“The envoy feared they would attack his people first,” Anakin reminded them. “If we fly out to meet them, we can protect our allies and remove a threat before they approach the city.”

Missandei pursed her lips. “That may be the only option.”

Finally they were in agreement.

“Mayhaps if we stop one of the forces amassing against us thoroughly enough, the others will rethink their plans,” Anakin said, turning his attention back to the japor. He had drown out the design on a piece of parchment and was nearly finished carving the symbols into the small cut of wood. It would have little meaning to Dormé now, but should they part, the trinket would help keep the memory of him fresh in her mind. His siblings didn’t have to inquire at what he was doing. Kitster had asked Anakin to carve him a similar token for the sweetheart he left at home in Vaes Tolorro. Anakin loved working with his hands, whether that meant smithing, designing saddles for the dragons, or making crafts. It helped that he was good at it.

“Mayhaps with the Dothraki,” Missandei mused. “For a time. But Volantis, Quarth, and the other freeholds, their power is in wealth and we are hurting the cycle of their finances. This may never be over for them.”

“Unless they begin training slaves on their own without relying on Slaver’s Bay,” Kitster said. “Would we fight them on every front?”

Anakin looked up at that, rage and frustration coursing through him. “If we didn’t, then everything we fought for would be for nothing.”

“Even should they choose to, it would be many generations before they could match the former slave cities,” Missandei pointed out. “We could stop them. But if we stay and fight, your dream of Westeros must needs wait.”

Anakin’s stomach dropped. “Westeros wasn’t just my dream.”

Missandei nodded. “I wanted a safe place for our people to live. That place may not exist.”

“Unless we make that place ourselves,” he said. “We’ve lost too many people to allow Slaver’s Bay to grow somewhere else.”

Everything seemed so simple when they first began. If they stopped the slave cities from purchasing, breeding, and training slaves, that would lead to the end of the trade in Essos. A world without slavery was possible. What they somehow didn’t expect was how fiercely the rest of the continent would fight to avoid the inconvenience of existing without it.

Anakin spent the rest of the meeting absorbed in perfecting the japor snippet for Dormé, only giving a few comments here and there. With war closing in faster and negotiations far from complete, it was more and more likely that she would leave before anything could be resolved upon between them.

By the time Dormé and Ser Quarsh arrived, he was just completing the task of stringing a thin piece of leather through the japor. Though not as pleased with their arrival as Anakin was, Kitster and Missandei greeted the pair pleasantly. Apparently, they had spent the previous afternoon teaching the Westerosi knight how to play cyvasse while he waited for Dormé’s return and intended to pick up where they left off. Leaving them to it, Anakin led Dormé into the garden where Ebrion had coiled herself around a lemon tree.

“I doubt I will ever get used to seeing her,” Dormé said as the dragon opened her blue eyes at their approach. She reached out and pressed a palm against the beast’s scales in wonder.

“I made this for you,” Anakin said abruptly. He held out the japor snippet. Desperately, he wanted to say more, something eloquent, but he had never been skilled with words. His speech was often plain and stilted. “So you would remember me. It will bring you good fortune.”

With a smile, Dormé took the token and examined it. “This is beautiful, but you’re acting as though this is goodbye.”

“It might be, for a while at least,” Anakin said. “Even if your queen’s councilors agreed to allow our people to settle in Westeros, we don’t have enough time to move everyone before our enemies surround us. We have no choice but to fight. We can’t have you here when that happens.”

Dormé nodded. Her mouth pursed as though she had more to say, but she remained silent.

“When we finish with them, I can come to you in Westeros,” he said, closing what little distance there was between them. Watching her response, Anakin drew her into his arms. When she gave no indication she wanted him to stop, he bowed his head to kiss her and Dormé met him halfway. So consumed with the warmth of her mouth, Anakin scarcely heard the raised voices coming from inside.

Dormé was the one to finally pull away. “What’s happening in there?”

“We ought to have flown away,” Anakin observed.

They both turned and strode briskly back to the royal chambers. Inside, they found the trio they had just left, a few Unsullied soldiers, and Lord Tarkin with a party of his guards. They looked to be in a glaring standoff that looked more than a little amusing.

“Are you drawing battle lines in our apartments?” Anakin called out jovially.

No one shared his cheer. They continued glaring at each other or turned stony eyes upon him.

“Much has happened while you were out on your dalliance,” Lord Tarkin said at last. “It seems these wild beasts of yours ate a guest you had accepted under your roof, Lord Krennic.”

All amusement drained from Anakin. He remembered the early days when they were still reining them in when they might set fires and leave the unwary with burns… and even killed. Those days were past though.

“That can’t be,” he insisted. “Ebrion has been in the garden and the others were chained at the bottom of the pyramid.”

“As I explained to Lord Tarkin,” Missandei said tightly, “according to Rex, Naqes’ chains were broken. The guards watching over them were murdered. His Lord Krennic must have tried to steal her and was rewarded for his trouble. Only Rex and Fives were able to lure Naqes back to her lair with a few sheep.”

“We brought in new chains for her,” Rex, the commander of the Unsullied, confirmed. “She won’t be getting loose again.”

“That does not alter the fact that a guest has been killed by your beast under your roof,” Lord Tarkin said. “There must be compensation for this.”

“He murdered our guards!” Anakin cried.

“They are replaceable.” The Westerosi waved his hand dismissively. “A lord is not. Not fully at least.”

Anakin felt fury pool within him. The nerve of that unfeeling barbarian.

“Mayhaps it’s time you took the men remaining to you and left,” Anakin said, adding, “before Naqes demands another helping of traitor.”

“Ah, I see.” Tarkin examined him, his arms folded behind his back. “The lure the false queen sent to seduce you to their side has done her work.”

“Say what you mean.”

“I mean that you have been swayed by her,” Tarkin said, his cold gaze on Dormé. “If  Krennic attempted to claim a dragon, as would be his right as the blood of Old Valyria, he may have done so because it has been perfectly clear for some time now that you’re letting your cock decide this matter, not your head. We did not think to bring whores with us that might persuade you to our side the way the queen’s delegates have.”

Rage instantly overcame Anakin, and he closed the distance between himself and the Westerosi in four long strides. Only Kitster shoving himself between them prevented Anakin from dislocating the man’s jaw.

“Calm yourself,” his brother whispered in High Valyrian.

Belatedly, Tarkin’s guards moved in front of him.

“I see these negotiations are truly over,” the man said coolly. “Lady Dormé, your family’s lands and holdfast have thus far remained untouched in the conflict. Do not expect that to be the case upon your return.”

“What are you talking about?” Anakin demanded. “You sacked her family’s lands and castle.”

“You are mistaken, _boy_.”

“Anakin.” Dormé’s hand rested on his shoulder. “Let him go. He isn’t worth listening to.”

But he was too angry to listen. “She told me what you did to Varykino Hall, the same thing you would have us do to your own countrymen, you ignorant savage! Don’t think you won’t meet justice for what you’re doing.”

Tarkin considered him a moment, then turned an intense glare on Dormé. “Varykino Hall never belonged to House Ashford. That holdfast was once the home of the false queen. Fascinating. Yours is such a common appearance, _Lady_ Padmé. No wonder I couldn’t differentiate you from any other girl from a lesser House.”

Anakin wanted to shout foul things at Tarkin’s departing back, but the full weight of what he said slowly dawned upon him.

Slowly, he turned to Dormé. Or the woman he thought was called Dormé. “Padmé?”

No one spoke at first.

“The Queen of Westeros came to negotiate with us in person?” Missandei sounded profoundly confused. “You risked your person so?”

Several voices spoke at once, but Anakin couldn’t decipher any of them. He could only stare at this woman who had lied to him and made a fool of him.

“Anakin, you have to understand-” Dormé -- _Padmé_ \-- began, but he cut her off.

“I understand that you lied to me for a fortnight,” Anakin said rigidly.

“I had to come here in disguise,” she insisted. “I had to have a direct hand in negotiations, but I couldn’t allow Lord Tarkin to know I was here. He would use this as an opportunity to kill me.”

“He knows now,” Kitster noted.

“We will be lucky if we get out of the bay alive,” Ser Quarsh said.

Anakin shook his head. “You could have trusted me.”  
“I barely knew you!” Padmé cried.

He thought they had grown to know each other,that they were on the path to building a strong future. But it was all a lie. _She_ was a lie. A manipulation. There wasn’t a thing about their time together he could trust now. Anakin didn’t believe the Queen of Westeros had come to make a whore of herself as Tarkin suggested. But once he had been so foolish as to make his interest in her plain for all to see, she certainly didn’t hesitate to use his feelings to her advantage. A sudden, dreadful thought came upon him. The Westerosi queen was Targaryen and Targaryens were blood of the dragon.

“Did you mean to steal Ebrion?” Anakin asked. “Is that why you were so friendly?”

For once the truth was plain in Padmé’s wide brown eyes. “I- it was something we wondered about, but I knew I co-”

A roar filled the air and flame brightened the already golden day on the terrace. Finally taking his glare from Padmé, Anakin looked beyond her to see Ebrion shooting blue and black flame into the sky. He drew in a deep breath and charged past the liar, intent on reining himself in. Ebrion was already leaping into the air as Anakin mounted her.

A voice called his name, but the air rushing past all but drowned out the sound.

* * *

This was not at all how Padmé intended for him to learn of their rouse. Before their ride the day before, she had planned on keeping up the charade until they reached Westeros, as intended for safety. But since his proposal, she was tempted to bring Anakin into their confidence. If the words had come from her, she was certain Anakin would have understood.

Instead, she was left staring up at the sky, watching him grow smaller.

“These negotiations are over, Your Grace,” Ser Quarsh whispered to her. “We can’t allow Tarkin to gain the march on us. He could lay a trap to assassinate you.”

“We can’t leave like this,” Padmé insisted. “He has to know- I have to explain.”

A throat cleared behind them. She turned to find Queen Missandei standing with her hands folded in front of her.

“Forgive me, but I would speak to your queen,” Missandei said.

Ser Quarsh looked to Padmé, who nodded. The Lord Commander and the other knights watched from a distance as the queens walked through the garden to a small pool where little fish darted here and there.

“I have given the order to detain Lord Tarkin until you leave,” Missandei said.

“That is your polite way of ordering us out of your city?” Padmé asked looking about the garden. She hadn’t taken the time to fully admire this place. She had been so focused on the dragon. And on Anakin. _Oh gods, Anakin…_ Once again, Padmé found herself regretting stopping him when he had his hand between her thighs. She most likely wouldn’t be able to continue that with him ever again. A fresh wave of shame washed over her at the thought.

“That is my way of seeing you safely out of our bay. The knight wasn’t wrong. What I have seen of Tarkin gives me no faith that he would wait until you are in Westeros to resume your war. I also doubt you would wish to be trapped here with us when our enemies lay siege.”

Padmé looked at her, startled. “They are so close?”

“They are not about to fall upon us,” she said. “But they are moving. Anakin and Kitster believe we should fly out to meet each of them separately on our terms. I begin to agree. Our people have bled enough.”

If only Padmé had that choice.

“I do not doubt we will see each other again, and mayhaps begin negotiations anew if it benefits us both,” Missandei said. “Or we may come together for something else. My brother’s dreams always come true.”

Somehow, that didn’t frighten Padmé as it had when Anakin told her that before. If anything, the thought gave her hope during the long journey home.

The voyage hadn’t been a complete loss, Padmé had to remind herself, tucking away the ache in her heart. She might examine the pain more closely when she had fewer tasks that needed her attention. She had not only seen, but flown upon the back of a dragon -- and now she knew for certain that Palpatine’s forces wouldn’t be able to recruit the only dragon riders left in the world. Though nor could she. But she couldn’t let that trouble her. For now, there were battles to plan, supplies to gather, and the ever-looming winter to prepare for.

The traitors didn’t seem to have suffered much from the loss of Lord Krennic. In fact, Padmé heard that his lands and levies were granted to Lord Tarkin and they carried on smoothly.

Lord Draven reported the first rumor of a dragon soaring along the coast of Dorne toward the Stormlands four moons after Padmé’s return, just as they were in the middle of peace talks with House Tully.

“What is this man planning?” Sio Bibble cried when the council received a raven reporting a sighting of the dragon all the way in the North. Lady Mormont of Bear Island wrote that she and her guards approached him as he gathered some of the summer snow in his bare hands and watched it melt while Ebrion feasted on a deer a distance away.

“He greeted us politely enough,” she wrote. “He asked why our rain came down like falling feathers. We tried to explain what snow was, but that only led to more questions. In the end, we had to bring him inside the Keep so the maester could explain a few things to all of us. I can’t say I ever questioned any of it before. He stayed a few nights with us before moving on south. They don’t seem to mean us ill. They were excellent guests. But a dragon is a dragon and I thought Your Grace should know about him.”

Padmé read and reread the parts of the letter that described how he looked and his mood. “He seems to be exploring,” she answered Lord Bibble.

“He’s taking our measure,” Lady Pryce mused. “Could it be for an invasion once he’s done with Essos? Word has it, they made quick work of those forces sent against them, attacking them at sea or on the march.”

The queen instinctively wanted to refute that idea, but wondered how much of her reasoning was based on logic and how much was rooted in her affection for Anakin. She said nothing while the council argued it out. All the while, her fingers absently stroked the japor snippet that hung about her neck.

If there were any doubts that Anakin was closer to being their ally than their enemy, his actions at Highgarden did away with them.

* * *

To say the war had not proceeded as Tarkin and Palpatine planned would be an understatement. All of the calculated unrest and the opportunities the queen herself provided in creating discontent among her lords ought to have led to the swift overthrow of the queen’s rule with wiser heads placed above her. The woman’s sex alone made her manifestly unfit. Her choices proved that fact.

Tarkin had expected troubles in their plans to come from the powerful lords Palpatine had brought together. Surprisingly, they had initially seemed to fall mostly into place and competed amongst themselves for prominence, allowing him and Palpatine to rise, in just the ways Palpatine said they would. The trouble came from the woman they meant to dispossess.

Yet, the amount of support Queen Padmé had rallied to her had been astonishing. Fortunately, Tarkin was in the process of cutting off one of the main lines of Loyalist support.

The Reach was often called the bread basket of Westeros. The most fertile and bountiful of the regions. The queen had pulled heavily from them when she sent food to the savage Northmen during the last winter. Much grumbling and even outrage had been heard since the incident. Yet when the rebellion began, the Reach remained true to Padmé Naberrie. Mayhaps it was because she hailed from their region. Mayhaps it was because the Tyrells of Highgarden who held the rule of the region were fools descended from upjumped stewards. The reason made no matter. They would pay for their choice in blood. Once the realm heard stories of what happened to Highgarden, they would abandon the queen’s lost cause.

The orderly lines of disciplined soldiers marched over once-verdant meadows, leaving mud and blood in their wake. Each village they encountered on their way to Highgarden was burned with the smallfolk put to the sword or forced into service. Each field of crops was burned to ash. By the time they arrived at the great seat of House Tyrell, Tarkin’s forces had been hardened and accustomed to the spilling of blood.

“I never thought to see Highgarden brought so low,” Ser Conan Motti said in awe beside Tarkin.

The two remained near the tail end of their forces atop their warhorses with their standards flapping high above them, watching their commands spread through the ranks as the attack on the castle of so many songs proceeded.

“Many will not have,” Tarkin said.

Even surrounded by an army with siege weapons moving into position, the castle’s fabled and frivolous beauty was on full display before him. The sight offended his orderly and practical sensibilities. Destroying this site would be a grand first step in creating a more rational Westeros.

Just as their men seemed to be making progress, climbing over the first of Highgarden’s walls, shouts of terror and awe swept through their men.

“Gods…” Ser Conan gasped. “A dragon!”

Tarkin looked to the skies to see a black dragon swooping in broad circles around their forces. A cold wave of fear washed through Tarkin. He had heard that the queen failed to ally herself with the Sky Walkers. He had also heard rumors that one -- Anakin -- had taken to exploring Westeros. But he had never involved himself in any of the battles before.

“Archers!” Ser Conan waved frantically. “Take aim!”

“No!” Tarkin bellowed. “Arrows would only serve to anger the beast and its rider.”

“But if our arrows could kill the rider-” Conan began before Tarkin crisply cut him off.

“That would lead to a riderless dragon reaping havoc all over our forces,” he said, watching the dragon swoop circles around the army, coming lower and lower. “The boy has no allegiance to either side of this war. There is no reason for him to risk the political fallout of attacking us. If we wait for him to move on, we can-”

Then the inconceivable happened. The next circle of the dragon came with a downpour of blue and black flame. Tarkin only had a few seconds of warning to wonder if the color indicated that it would feel cold, only for the excruciating agony of heat to envelop him, followed by high pitched screams, one of which he vaguely acknowledged as his own before all rational thought fled from him.

* * *

Just days after receiving a letter from Lord Leo Tyrell pleading for aid, Padmé received a second one detailing the siege Lord Tarkin had led against his holdfast.

“The traitor’s men were over our first walls and cutting through the maze when we saw the Sky Walker soaring above. At first he only circled round and round at different heights. We knew not whether to give the order to shoot at him or save our arrows for the traitors. Then he swooped down a distance from Highgarden and blazed a swath through the back end of the treacherous army, bringing an end to Lord Tarkin for good and all. With its head cut off and the dragon still circling above them, the army flew to pieces. Most fled to the trees while the rest surrendered. The dragon never landed, but he has the Reach’s gratitude, as do you, Your Grace, for sending him.”

Padmé was ashamed of the part of herself that felt mild disappointment at the news of Tarkin’s death. She had planned on having him beheaded and mounted on Traitor’s Walk. But such thoughts were unladylike, so she focused in writing a letter in response to Lord Tyrell explaining that Anakin had helped him of his own accord and assuring him that fresh levies would be sent to Highgarden in case the traitors regrouped and returned under new leadership.

“Let us hope he comes upon Dooku Lannister or Sheev Palpatine next,” Jamillia said. “If he can help us end this conflict soon, there may be time for a few more harvests before another winter falls upon us.”

After hearing all the reports of him exploring Westeros, Padmé assumed he had no wish to meet with her again. So when she finally convinced Ser Quarsh that a ride along the shore wouldn’t endanger her beyond reason, she was shocked to hear the unmistakable screech of a dragon in the distance. At the noise, the horses began to buck and cry in terror. Padmé managed to calm her mare enough to safely dismount and tie the bridle to a tree, but not everyone in her party was as lucky. Some had been thrown or even carried away by their mounts. Others wrestled with the reins.

The queen turned her gaze to the sky and looked about. Mayhaps he was on his way to the Red Keep. Or, more like, on his way back to Essos. But no, she could see the dark shape of the dragon high above them circling lower and lower. Her handmaidens clustered close behind her, murmuring in awe as Ebrion alighted a ways ahead of them. Ebrion seemed even larger than she remembered, her black and blue scales even more vibrant compared to the more sedate colors of Westeros.

At the sight of Anakin upon the dragon’s back, Padmé rushed forward, paying no heed to Ser Quarsh’s cries of warning.

Just like their first meeting, she held out and pressed her hand against the dragon’s scales. The heat seeped through her glove to warm her skin. Fire made flesh. The large blue eyes blinked at her in recognition.

Padmé felt Anakin beside her before she dared look at him.

“Well met, Your Grace,” she said, finally turning to him.

Somehow he looked even more beautiful than she remembered, with his shaggy blond hair falling into his blue eyes. If only she could kiss him as she did in the middle of the sea of grass.

Anakin nodded. “Your Grace.”

A silence fell between them.

Padmé searched around for something to say. “How do you like Westeros? The reports we have received make it seem like you have been to every corner.”

“It is vast,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

She wondered if that gesture meant he was still angry with her or simply nervous. Surely he wouldn’t have landed if he hadn’t wanted to see her.

“It is beautiful,” he continued. “Most of it is, at least. There are so many strange and unique places here. It’s astounding that the whole wide land is united under you. We were struggling to keep hold of  just Freedman’s Bay.”

“Not all of the realm is united,” she reminded him. “But most of it is now that the Riverlands have returned to us.”

A surge of pride coursed through her at that. She had met with the river lords and through words rather than swords she had been able to regain their allegiance.

“There are battles left to fight.” Which reminded her of what she should have said the second she saw him. “You have my thanks, and the thanks of Lord Tyrell and all the Reach for your help.”

“It was the only thing to do,” he said. “I had followed the burned fields and villages there. Would that I had found them sooner and saved those people.”

They both grew quiet. Padmé wondered if he would accept an offer to come return to the Red Keep with her. Mayhaps she could make some headway in healing things between them.

“I see why you lied to me,” he said suddenly. The words seemed to come out as a struggle. “I saw it then, but I was furious and hurt and ...  didn’t want to be wrong.”

Padmé stared at him speechless. This was the very last thing she expected.

“I … had a different notion of you before we met,” he continued. “When it didn’t live up to everything I had thought, I was angry. I…” This came out as the greatest struggle. “I was foolish.”

“Your anger was understandable,” Padmé said. “It took me some time to see that too. Trust is essential for allies.”

“I trust you,” he said. “The way your people speak of you, the way you are approaching this war, I see you are a great queen. I would be your ally in this fight, if you would have me.”

“I don’t simply wish for you to be my ally, Anakin. I want you to be my husband.” Once the unthinking words were out, Padmé expected to feel shame at her own boldness. But she didn’t. Mayhaps being as honest as he had been with her when they first met would more surely bring them to happiness. Or at least neither of them would have to wonder where the other stood. “If you would have me.”

Shock and happiness overtook Anakin’s handsome features so fully, Padmé couldn’t help laughing. How she loved the complete openness of his feelings.

Without preamble, he had drawn her into his arms and kissed her fiercely. “I would have you,” Anakin assured her between kisses. “And you can have all of me.”

Padmé kissed him back, not caring that her whole party saw them from where they stood at a distance.

This union would create nearly as many troubles as it would solve, but Padmé felt certain they would see them through. How could they not when fate itself seemed to conspire in their favor long before they even met?


End file.
